


59th Street Bridge

by trimalchio



Category: Football RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-13
Updated: 2015-01-19
Packaged: 2018-03-07 09:46:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,489
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3170324
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trimalchio/pseuds/trimalchio
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was good until it wasn't.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Good

**Author's Note:**

> I have been listening to a lot of breakup songs and watching sad romance movies lately.

They broke up on a Wednesday. Or maybe a Monday. Actually, the day of the week wasn't very memorable. The date wasn't either. It was Fall. Their breakup smelled like wet leaves. The breakup wasn't even one worth the brainspace to recall it.

The first day they met wasn't memorable either. It was probably a Saturday. Though it could have been a Friday. They were out, some place. So it had to be a weekend night. It was Summer. Steven remembered wearing short sleeves, cold drinks, and flip flops. The bar smelled like body odor and sticky sweet vomit.

Xabi never wore flip flops. He complained about the fact that his toes were too long and that they hung over the fronts. That flip flops and jeans looked stupid. That flip flops were only appropriate for the beach. Flip flops, in Xabi's opinions, were horrible in bars because what if you stepped in vomit? You'd get it all over your bare foot skin. Steven thought that was ridiculous and kissed Xabi to stop his complaints. Hearing those facts though made Steven fall in love with Xabi, though he didn't show his hand completely for another two days.

They started dating without any real discussion on the matter. It was simultaneously and silently agreed that it was what they were doing. They ate dinner together. They watched television together. When Steven broke his thumb, Xabi cut Steven's fingernails and his toenails. Soon, they were merely appendages of one another. Moving quick through the normal steps of relationship. Skipping past the first awkward parts to the meat of the relationship.

They had been dating for three weeks when they met each other's parents.

“You two are weird,” Jamie told Steven. It was a comment that had been unheeded. Jamie leaned over the top of Steven's cubicle wall, resting his cup of coffee on the cubicle wall ledge. Steven was about to ask why they were weird.

“Nicola had to wait a couple of months before she met Mr. and Mrs. Carragher.”

“So you guys had to make out in the alley behind the school, instead, huh?”

“I'm just saying, you're moving mighty fast.”

“And I'm just saying, you were fourteen when you met Nicola.”

Jamie shrugged. Steven shrugged back.

Xabi liked watching movies in the theater. He'd go with other people. He'd go by himself. Sometimes, if he had a whole day off, he'd buy a ticket for an early show at the multiplex and sneak into shows for the rest of the day. He liked movie theater popcorn. Slightly stale, soaked in too much imitation butter. The imitation butter made a salty film on his lips that ultimately coated Steven's when they kissed before a movie started.

They saw _Manhattan_ at a film festival. Steven didn't like it all that much, but Xabi loved it. He asked, “Do you think there'll ever be a director who gets New York like Woody Allen?”

“What's there to get?”

“Just the way it looks. It's so New York.”

“Close-ups of garbage bags and graffiti on the Subway is so New York?” Steven teased, “You know, I like being able to walk through Central Park without finding a dead body. I like not living here in the 1980s.”

“ _So_ _New York_ ,” Xabi repeated, this time less serious, pressing his forehead against Steven's. Soon, it was their joke. Whenever they heard something pretentious or said something pretentious, the other would say, “ _ So _ _New York._ ”

Steven usually said it in response to something Xabi said. Jamie got annoyed by it easily.

“Coldplay has a really sophisticated sound that most newer bands just can't even replicate.”

“They're  _so New York_ .”

Jamie heaved a huge sigh, while Nicola said, “But they're from England, aren't they?”

They moved in together after three months. Jamie informed Steven again, “You guys are nuts.”

“Rent is insane in this city.”

“I know. That's why you lived with me and Nicola,” Jamie said, “Now, I'm not sure if we should keep your room open or sublet it out right away.”

“Keep it a shrine to me,” Steven replied, “Leave it as it is, so you'll never forget me and my role in your life.”

Jamie rolled his eyes. One of Xabi's friends ended up renting the room. Correction: one of Xabi and Steven's friends. They were in the process of merging into one concept: Steven and Xabi. Xabi and Steven. Potentially they would just be Xabi-and-Steven or Steven-and-Xabi, their names smashed up. Or even worse, if their names were Xabisteven or some other complete truncation. At the time, it seemed like a fine idea, to surrender individuality because who needed individuality when things were so fucking good? Who cared about personal identity when you felt that great all the time? Sometimes Steven made dumb decisions, but they were usually with good reason, or a reason that was appealing at the time.

Xabi's closet was packed with clothes and shoes, but he still made room for Steven's stuff, by buying one of those rolling clothes racks. He had a ton of sneakers, some were in a rack, hanging on the back of his bedroom door. He had another rack on the back of his closet door with dress shoes. There were even more under his bed in plastic tubs. For his birthdays and Christmases, Steven would buy Xabi socks, since shoes were unneeded.

Their roommate, Pepe, was a real drunk. Xabi knew him first. He came home on Thirsty Thursdays with a cadre of revelers and would play the guitar, wordlessly shouting, while supposedly singing. The first night Steven experienced it, he noticed that Xabi was staying up, reading  _The Corrections_ in bed, while Steven went straight to sleep. He would have slept through it, except Xabi elbowed him in the side and asked, “You don't hear them?”

While conscious, Pepe's noise was very obvious, but while unconscious, it had been tolerable. Sometimes, Steven would elbow Xabi and say, “Don't you hear them?”

Mostly when something was obvious for Xabi to notice. Xabi would laugh and smile. And it was good. They went to the multiplex, snuck into free movies. They laughed over their dumb, inside jokes. It was a good relationship.

It was good until it wasn't.

 


	2. The Bad

When it was bad, it wasn't even that bad. They argued about...what did they even argue about? Just stupid shit. Stupid to the point Steven hadn't devoted much memory beyond shouting and fevered emotions that were clearly not worth the energy that had been spent on them.

“What the fuck ever,” Steven usually shouted before leaving to take a walk. Then, when he got back, Pepe was usually watching television while Xabi fumed in the kitchen. He was an angry cook. Steven would press kisses into the back of his neck, while Xabi shrugged them away, at first. Steven was persistent though. Eventually, Xabi would turn to face him. Neither said sorry. So it was fine.

They watched _Manhattan_ on cable once. They started their _so New York_ routine, which annoyed Pepe, who let them know about his annoyance immediately. Pepe stated plainly, “Woody Allen's not even the best New York director. Haven't you seen _Goodfellas_?”

“Do you want to go to the 59th Street Bridge to talk until the sun rises?” Steven suggested. Xabi agreed. They went to the Manhattan side of the bridge, but had to wait until all of the other couples waiting to do the same thing.

Steven held Xabi's hand and they watched the sun set with all of the other couples, who had seen the same movie.

“You know, it's kind of too bad that the Woody Allen and Diane Keaton, you know the characters, broke up after they did this in the movie,” Xabi said, “It's really romantic, huh?”

“It was the first date,” Steven replied, running his fingers through Xabi's hair, "All first dates are romantic, no matter where they are."

Xabi had a collage on his side of the room with the evidence of their relationship. Pictures, ticket stubs, postcards all taped up on the wall. It was cute. Sometimes, he even wrote down song lyrics that he liked and would tape them up, too.

Xabi went to the California for work. Initially, he said it was temporary, working with the state of California. Then, it became permanent. He left most of his stuff behind in the apartment. Álvaro, the one who subletted from Jamie, borrowing Steven's old room, went to California, too. Jamie asked if Steven wanted to move back in with him, but Steven was too settled into where he was.

“Well, do you want to...stay together?” Steven asked, waiting for Xabi to say “Duh, of course.”

Instead, Xabi said, “Let's see.”

Let's see.

Let's see. Like those years, those jokes, those kisses, those moments were just an afterthought. They only had the phone line and maybe Skype, if Steven was lucky. Steven stared at the television, while Pepe ate a slice of pizza. He demanded, “What's wrong with this city? This pizza, this stuff?”

Pepe shrugged.

“What could California have that New York doesn't have?” Steven asked, “They don't have good pizza, good mass transit or good bridges.”

“They have good bridges,” Pepe said, “Haven't you heard of the Golden Gate Bridge?”

Steven stared up at the taped-up altar of their relationship. Pepe watched sadly from the doorway, eating the food that Xabi left behind.

“Are you going to take his stuff to him?” Pepe asked, after shoveling more peach Greek yogurt into his mouth. That flavor of Greek yogurt was actually Steven's, but he was in no mood to argue over that.

“If Xabi wants his stuff, he'll have to get it himself.”

“Maybe if you go, you'll find out what he likes about California.”

“There's nothing I wish to learn.”

They called. They laughed. They pretended like they were still close. Like the snapshots, taped to the wall, were representative of everything they ever did together.

Xabi came to get his stuff one week. They had sex, went to the movies, talked all night. They peeled the pictures from the wall, putting them in a shoebox, packing them away, like they were detectives, done with the case, sending the evidence to sit in a storage facility for the rest of eternity. Packed up all of his clothes in cardboard boxes to send to Xabi's new condo on the other side of the country.

“Let's go to the bridge and watch the sunrise,” Xabi suggested at three-thirty in the morning, after they watched two episodes of _Mad Men_ back to back _._

Pepe was still out, probably with Jamie, the dual friendship groups finally having merged into one, just as Xabi was exiting.

“Still a great bridge,” Steven said, putting his arm over Xabi's shoulder.

“I didn't know you had such opinions on bridges. Which one's a bad bridge? Which one's done you wrong?”

“The Throgs Neck. I feel like I'm taking my life into my own hands on that bridge and it's still fifteen dollars to go over,” Steven replied, surprised that he even had an answer. What kind of lunatic had an answer for which bridge he disliked?

Talking about stuff was easy. Talking about ideas was easy. Talking about anything but each other was easy. If Steven had to ask Xabi how work was or if he liked California, then he'd have to admit he didn't know all that much about how Xabi was anymore. Steven knew that Xabi liked his job in New York. That he liked eating Chinese food for lunch, showing off that he knew how to use chopsticks. That all of the candy bars in the company vending machine were stale. That on Fridays, to prepare for the weekend, they would play iTunes radio loud for the whole floor to hear. Steven didn't want to ask how work in California differed.

Steven knew Xabi then. But not really anymore.

And like the lack of outward statement that they had started their relationship with, they ended it. When Xabi left the apartment with the last of his stuff and some of their shared stuff, Steven knew that it was over. Steven had driven him to the airport. Neither of them said, “I love you” or “I'll miss you.” Steven said, “See you around, right?”

Xabi nodded, “Take care of yourself.”

And it was over. Done. Xabi disappeared into JFK Airport's Delta Airlines terminal. He was gone. Possibly forever. Steven knew that was a Thursday, since Xabi wanted to get a cheaper flight. But it was entirely possible that they had broken up earlier than that, but Steven hadn't noticed.

 


	3. The Over

Occasionally, Pepe would sigh at Steven from the doorway of his bedroom. It was just Steven's bedroom now. Steven usually spent his weekends staring at the ceiling, memorizing the cracks.

“Jesus, Steven, you are making me an alcoholic out of worry,” Pepe said, eating more of Steven's yogurt. He probably assumed that yogurt grew in cartons in their refrigerator.

“Are you sure that's out of worry or is it out of habit?” Steven asked.

“If you think Xabi is all depressed like this, you're crazy.”

“Well, I'm glad to know that he's taking this like a champ.”

Pepe shrugged, “When you're ready to leave your little depressed turtle shell, I'll be here. And you know what I have? Cherry-flavored rum.”

“You do?”

“I'll make your vomit smell like an popsicle.”

“Sometimes I think you'll probably kill me.”

“I've always assumed I'll probably kill you.”

Steven woke up on the floor of his bedroom, shoes still on. Pepe had drawn a penis on Steven's cheek with a sharpie; he was a frat boy demon.

“Bro, you fell asleep with your shoes on. You know the rules.”

When Xabi got hangovers and spent Sunday mornings in front of the toilet, Steven used to rub his back. Little circles with his thumbs. Steven missed doing that. He missed Xabi. Everything about him: his freakish long toes that hung over the fronts of flip flops, his pretension about Woody Allen movies, his excessive collection of shoes that filled three plastic tubs and one over-the-door rack. He missed the good stuff, but remembered the bad stuff: the useless fights and the wordless decisions.

Eventually, it wasn't too bad. Steven stopped watching Woody Allen, preferring Martin Scorsese. He didn't go to the multiplex. He stopped looking at the shoebox that continued Xabi's old wall collage. Those things were haunted by the ghost of their relationship. They were all avoidable. Time marched on and the pain lessened. The facts got dusty.

Luis soon showed up at work. He was insane, but he was thoroughly invested. Luis loved one hundred and fifty-five percent. More than Steven could equivocate, but it was fine for the moment.

Nicola and Jamie had a baby, so they didn't need to rent out their spare room. Pepe married his girlfriend, Yolanda, so the collective friendship group of StevenXabi, the formerly singular entity, had to gather in one catering hall out on Long Island. To placate Pepe.

Xabi showed up, too. Although Steven had brought Luis, who had promised not to eat raw steak with his hands or anything like that, Steven had a flutter of love in his belly when he saw Xabi across the dance floor. Allegedly, according to Pepe, Xabi was dating Álvaro Arbeloa, Jamie's ex-renter, who had moved to California around the same time as Xabi. Supposedly, Steven was going to be too busy as an usher to be jealous. That wasn't true. He couldn't even bring himself to say hello.

Instead, Xabi approached him, “You look good.”

Steven was mid-cake bite. He nodded and tried to smile.

“This is Luis. He's nuts,” Steven pointed to Luis, “And we're dating.”

Xabi smiled politely. His smile didn't reach his eyes and he said, not sincerely, “Good for you.”

Luis probably wouldn't have noticed it was sincere, but Steven knew.

While Pepe and Yolanda were on their honeymoon, Steven had the apartment to himself, possibly for the first time in his life. He bought a thirty-six pack of Miller Light from the wholesale beer distributor off of the Long Island Expressway to settle in for the weekend, so he could watch the entire collection of James Bond in peace. Luis was a bit annoyed that he wasn't invited, but Steven hadn't ever been alone like that in his life. And it was fun. He filled out roughly three dozen Buzzfeed quizzes to discover he was, of the modern pop divas, a Taylor Swift, as well as Taylor from the “Shake It Off” video, when he wanted to find out which manifestation of Taylor Swift he was exactly.

Pepe and Yolanda were only gone for the weekend, having gone to the Long Island vineyards for their honeymoon. Steven had played “Shake It Off” on repeat while finishing up the James Bond series. The message presumably drilled itself into his skull while he slept. There was something philosophical about her.

When he woke up, the _Skyfall_ DVD menu kept repeating itself and “Shake It Off” was still playing. Pepe stood over him, arms crossed, and laughed. Pepe started referring to Steven as “Swifty.”

Luis got transferred to a different office on the other side of the country after he bit a client. He claimed it was an accident that he had fallen on the man's shoulder, teeth first, but apparently it was the third such incident in five years. Steven didn't call him or bother to retain his affections. It was just over.

Pepe and Yolanda had a baby, pretty much immediately, so Steven moved out, into his own apartment. Pepe reported, “I want to be able to have a basketball team of babies.”

“Five or the full roster?”

“Yes, Swifty, I want fifteen little Reinas all over the place. They'll be falling out of cabinets.”

“You were ambiguous.”

While unpacking, Steven found the old shoebox full of Xabi's wall collage pieces. Previously, he probably would have gone through the whole shoebox, caressing prior happy moments, drinking wine straight from the bottle, possibly going up to the 59th Street Bridge to lurch around and sob. Instead, Steven put it in the top shelf of the closet and slid the door shut.

Pepe, Jamie, and Steven had to go to a conference in Chicago. Both Jamie and Pepe had children and wives and were presumably fairly happy. Steven knew Pepe was happy, as he talked about his plans for an all-Reina soccer team, upping the number even more.

“Starting eleven or the whole squad?”

“Look into your heart and you'll know, Swifty.”

Jamie continued to enjoy busting on Steven, so he had to assume all was right in the Carragher household.

Steven was fine. He had opened his heart and let the sermons of Taylor Swift in. He would be fine with no man, certainly.

During a workplace leadership workshop, Steven sat in the back row, playing Kim Kardashian: Hollywood, jealous that Pepe and Jamie managed to get into the workplace violence prevention workshop. Pepe kept sending Steven pictures of the powerpoint, where the gruesome evidence that human beings were not meant to be in cubicles was on display. With Luis gone, no one in their office was insane enough to try to burn down the building or anything, so Pepe and Jamie were just observing carnage, rather than taking the time to learn. Steven didn't look up once to learn how to be an office leader, so he was no better than them probably.

Until the guy next to him nudged Steven's hand, pushing a folded up, yellow piece of paper, addressed to him. The handwriting was Xabi's, slightly untidy and all caps.

_Let's skip this shit. Meet me in the hallway and we'll get a drink._

Steven didn't need to be asked twice and got up silently. Xabi had a new ginger beard and was wearing a more expensive sweater. They hugged awkwardly, so Steven said, “Looks like you learned something from _Mad Men_ , huh?”

“I live _Mad Men_.”

“So you know any good places near here?”

“Not really near here. I moved here last summer, got another promotion,” Xabi said as they left the convention center, leaving the leadership workshops, synergy seminars, and all that stuff behind.

“You're almost back to the East Coast. Just a few more states and you're back on the right coast.”

They sat on the Subway car (“It's L,” Xabi corrected him, “We're in Chicago, for God's sakes.”), next to each other, with an inch gap between their thighs.

“So you like it here?”

“It could be better, I guess.”

“Yeah, how? Not enough Brooks Brothers' outlets here?”

“There aren't enough of those in the World, period,” Xabi smirked. He put his arm around Steven's shoulder and scooted closer. Steven didn't push away; it felt good and fine. They talked until sunrise.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!
> 
> A/N: This is the only reason why I had the quick Luis/Steven relationship (http://imgur.com/a/eE7Xg).


End file.
